


Driving Force

by Lucky_Cassandra



Series: Stories not Told [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: ...Ish. he doesn't remember yet, Character Study, F/M, Light Angst, musings, zelink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucky_Cassandra/pseuds/Lucky_Cassandra
Summary: He didn't remember much, but he was sure of one thing. Giving up wasnotan option. As long as he could force air in his lungs, as long as he could force his screaming limbs to push up and start fighting again, hewould notgive up.





	Driving Force

**Author's Note:**

> I read WAY too much in the tiny little glimpses we are given of Link's feelings, like the dejected and heartbreaking way he puts the slate back after each memory, looking at it as if he wanted more answers, or the way he clenches his eyes while he is trying to get up after a hit in a fight. And Link and Zelda are ridiculously in love and you can't convince me otherwise.  
> This is basically me venting the angsty feels Link gives me.

Link gasped as his eyes flew open. He remembered. _He remembered._ It was raining, then, just like now. It was almost like a vision, he could almost _see_ her. Zelda. Her eyes brimming with sadness and self-doubt, talking to him about... paths, and possibilities, and destiny. He was clutching a sword, no... _the_ sword, but he held it lowered, having stopped his training to better give her his attention.

Link held the sheikah slate tight in his hand, trying to remember the rest of the conversation, how he had answered, but nothing else came to him. He couldn't remember anything else, and he didn't have time to dwell on it. Just like the other times memories had surfaced like this, he had no time to mourn, to think, to _feel_... Those were luxuries he just could not afford. He had to, once again, just hang the slate back on his belt, and keep moving. Keep training. Keep fighting.

Sometimes, when he sat by the fire at night in restless vigil, waiting for dawn before attempting a treacherous path, or seeking the small comfort of a shallow cave while waiting out a storm, he allowed himself to think. Staring into the fire, listening to the noises of the night, there were times he would allow his thoughts to wonder, just a few minutes. He would think about his options, or rather, lack thereof. This was the only thing he was sure about, he _had_ to keep going, there really was no other choice. He had to save her. Had to help Hyrule with everything he had, even if it killed him again (because he still didn't remember this, but he knew it had happened. More than one person had told him the story, as surreal as that was). He felt _driven_ , his resolve clearer and stronger with every second of his previous life he remembered. And driven he had to be, to endure everything he had to face.

In fact, there were times he actually marveled at the strength of his own resolve. When he looked back on how things were when he had just woken up, when he had no idea of who he was, when he remembered how everything was so difficult then, even more than now. He felt weak, cold, alone. He had no armour, no weapons. Even a single red bokoblin was a challenge, one he had to face with nothing but a stick, and one he hardly ever walked away unscathed from. Even at the time, there must have been a part of his old self already awake, the part of him that trembled with suppressed emotion when he heard that gentle voice in his thoughts. The princess. Zelda.

So then he asked himself if she was his motivation, if it was an old sense of duty and honour, ingrained in him in past lives. But there were times when he wondered if the will to keep to his sworn duty out of honour would really have been enough to keep him going, to keep him facing the trials and pain he was now walking into, alone. Like when he took yet another hit from a lynel, or a talos, or a hinox, or worse one of the aspects of Ganon which had taken control of the divine beasts, and was thrown halfway across a field by the fierceness of it. He would allow himself to feel the pain, then, while he was airborne, before he collided with the ground and had to start fighting again, clenching his eyes and teeth tight against the pain, fighting to let air in his winded ribcage, fighting to stop his tumbling, to get his shaking legs to hold his weight up again, fighting to get his aching arms to push him upright and lift his weapons once more.

He wondered then, would duty be enough to convince him not to simply let go? Surely, death would be easier, less painful. And it would take so little to just give up. All he had to do was give a tiny fraction less than everything he had in the right fight... But he couldn't. He didn't remember much, but he was sure of that. Giving up was _not_ an option. As long as he could force air in his lungs, as long as he could force his screaming limbs to push up and start fighting again, as long as there were people in this wild and breathtaking land who needed help, he _would not_ give up, not until every little speck of malice was cleared from the land and Ganon banished into oblivion again. He would keep going, he would grow stronger, he would free all the divine beasts, prepare for the final fight, and finally end this, one way or another. He tried not to dwell to much on the thought of the princess locked in a never ending fight with Ganon, because for some reason this was unspeakably painful for him. He found himself gasping for air for no physical reason when he thought about the princess trapped in the castle, air simply would not enter his lungs. So he concentrated on what he had to do in preparation for the final fight with the Calamity, and on what he was willing to endure to get there.

In those rare moments that he could spare to think about all of this, he couldn't help but hope that maybe the next memory to come back would finally help him make sense of this resolve, this dedication, this _devotion_ he felt, make him at last understand this mysterious driving force pushing him past his every limit. Because he knew that one day he would remember what it was that would make him lay down his life, again, without hesitation.


End file.
